PS 

. 1916 . 





O O LIAM 




EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS 




Class :Pi_2i4::£: 
Book . A^r 3"^F6 



Copyright ]^"_ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



I iiiiii m iii m i m i iniiin rwTB 



THE FOOLI AM 



A SA TIRE 



WITH APOLOGIES TO POPE AND HIGH 
PRIESTS OF LITERATURE 



EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS 




BOSTON: THE GORHAM PRESS 

TORONTO : THE COPP-CLARK COMPANY, UMITED 



Copyrishc 1916 by Edwin Alfred AVatrous 
All RiKbts Reserved 






,^ 



ft' 



THE GORHAM PRESS. BOSTON, V. S. A. 




)CI.A427780 



THE FOOLIAM 



PROEM 

To Knights of Gripdom, those who scour the land 

And keep it bright with eloquence and sand — 

I dedicate this Work (it's work — not play 

To grind out sausages — a link a day ! ) 

With expectations that this first edition 

Will yield abundant harvest to get rich on. 

The Salesman's work extends from sun to sun; 

His outgo beats his income two to one, 

And yet he'll spend his money with delight 

Whenever any orders are in sight: 

And though he's broke or blue or bluffed, he beams 

With everlasting cheerfulness it seems: 

His heart's so big it makes his chest distend, 

But he's a modest man and loyal friend. 

I wonder if, when he has lost his grip 

And come, at last, to make his final trip, 

The good Saint Peter, at the Pearly Gate, 

Will take him in forthwith or make him wait 

Until his Yearly Sales are scrutinized 

And last Expense Account is itemized? 

Or, when the Angel Gabriel appears 

(The Final Judge of mortals in arrears) 

And blows his horn, — could anyone expect 

The Salesman to be beat in this respect ? 



THE FOOLIAM 

To Sons and Daughters, those who carved a name 

Upon the everlasting Scroll of Fame 

For val'rous deeds in War, renov^^n in Art 

Or Law or Letters; those who played a part 

In our discov'ry and our transformation 

From savage state to record-breaking nation, 

And framed our Constitution (Wondrous picture!) 

We give the meed of praise without a stricture. 

A halo hovers 'round the names of all 

Whose portraits hang, illumined, in Fame's Hall. 

I'm sure 'twould be a sacrilege to paint 

One of these Idols other than a Saint. 

Where Fires of Virtue glow in hallowed mien 

The counter-picture should not gloom the screen. 

Altho, to-day, immune from Satire's jibes 

They suffered from coeval diatribes. 

Contemporaries hastened to decry 

These Geniuses whom we beatify, 

Rating their works as Daubs in Hue and Greases 

That we pronounce distinguished Masterpieces. 

Their Manuscripts were Bernardized enough 

To make them rank as rankest kind of stuff. 

And matchless Prototypes in alabaster 

Were lampooned like mere trinkets cast from 

plaster. 
They had, you see, their share of human worry 
Until, at last, they crossed the Styg'an Ferry, 



The Fooliam 



Resigned to leave this world of grief and pride,- 
With garments of asbestos fortified. 

This is the day of MOVIES and the screen 

Is far more mighty than the pen, I ween; 

So now we'll turn the crank and flash in view 

A hundred faces that are known to you. 

Here shines the Man of Iron, the Canny Scot 

Whose place is booked in Paradise, I wot; 

Whose genial face and unbent shoulders show 

How far an upright Plutocrat may go: 

And here a Churchman, rectified we're told, 

Is seen to stagger 'neath a Cross of Gold; 

A King of Finance but a pauper he 

Whose soul is mortgaged for Eternity: 

A mitey host of penceless widows waits 

To bar his entrance at the Pearly Gates. 

Next in the line a Preacher of renown 

Who doused vermilion glims in Gothamtown: 

But justice, drossless, tempered his Crusade 

Against the Social Outcasts and their Trade. 

He clothed and sheltered them with righteous care 

(For "Man can't live by bread alone" — nor prayer) 

And led them by the Light of Hope ablaze 

To lives of usefulness from sinful ways. 

Thus Moral Suasion scored a winning inning 

Where Statutes failed to check unbridled sinning, 

For Purity can touch the robe that's soiled 

And be not fearful lest its own be spoiled ; 

The Hypocrite would scorn to even touch 

8 



The Fooliam 



These Magdalens, and yet he made them such. 

And here a Kansas Joan with a hatchet 

Who shut the door on Rum but didn't latch it ; 

(How much of Bonnie Bourbon thus was wasted, 

And what a crime to let it spill untasted!) 

Meanwhile her baby hatchet grows to axe 

And wreck and ruin follow in her tracks 

Until she reaches England, where she gets 

A great ovation from the Suffragettes. 

Then comes a hero of the Cuban Main 

Who bottles up the fighting ships of Spain: 

But how much braver than to dare the Dons 

To face the powder of the Amazons ; 

And how much better than to fight King Booze 

An easy berth in Washington to choose! 

Then comes a Singer, one of world-wide note, 

Whose wondrous lungs and cultivated throat 

Gave her the power to captivate the masses 

And sing to "standing room," without free passes: 

Behold her on her Seventeenth Farewell 

Fall flat with half the choicest seats to sell! 

And here's a way-up tenor, ultra fine! 

Weighed up by Scale Chromatic I opine: 

Whene'er he sings the royalties attend, 

And King Mazuma is his closest friend. 

Whether he's heard in aria or chant 

His Record is the Soundest one extant. 

The next film shows, if you will strain your eyes, 
How much of food, to-day, One Dollar buys. 



The Fooliam 



The present cost of living does not show 

That man wants only little here below ; 

Nor does it prove, when married life's begun, 

That two can live for little more than one. 

It takes some courage to embark in life, 

In dual bliss, with but a single wife 

(In olden days before they had divorce 

A single woman was no wife, of course!) 

And those old Heroes who supported more 

Deserve a palace on the Golden Shore. 

When Solomon the King, famed for his mind, 

The Matchless Queen of Sheba wined and dined 

And urged her to become his wife and queen 

Regardless of Four Hundred in between. 

She said "Great King, you give me this impression," 

"That your famed mental powers are in recession !" 

Would Wisdom thus distinguish modern lives 

If ev'ry man possessed four hundred wives? 

Our Wise Men nowadays are quite unable 

To stall a brace of fillies in one Stable. 

There's Kicking from the start and then revolt, 

And added danger when they face the Colt. 

With one good Pacer, one who's never lagging,- 

You're hitched up right and save a peck of nagging. 

'Tis safer far to concentrate on one 

Than seek new pastures and the gamut run,' 

With menace to your purse and peace of mind. 

With Mary and the yearlings left behind. 

'Tis better too! Be careful what you hand her! 

10 



The Fooliam 



(The sauce will baste the goose that bastes the 

gander!) 
For, when forsaken, she may sh'p the halter 
And lead some other Jackass to the altar. 

Behold a man of versatility 
Who does things with pronounced Ability! 
Regardless of its orthographic form 
His active mind doth Keep the subject warm. 
Reformer, Author, Potentate and Colonel, 
Respected even by the Imps Infernal, 
He has the power to charm wild beasts they tell, 
And mortals also fall beneath his Spell. 
He Nimrods to the kingly Lion's lair 
(But never stoops to take the lion's share) 
And shoots the rapids of some unmapped River 
Or breasts its flood without a qualm or quiver. 
Acquitted of Intemp'rance by a Jury, 
It now leaks out whence came his aqua pura. 
Whether the River Doubt flows North or South 
Or hides its source or shuts its toothless mouth, 
The fact remains, Discoverers agree. 
It bears resemblance — close analogj^ — 
To old Salt River, renamed Brine the Great, 
Where quondam Politicians navigate. 
Be they the same or only tributary 
Methinks the Bull Moose, without fear or worry, 
StalTceth the miry trail along its brink. 
Where cumbrous, thick-skinned Elephants would 
sink; 

11 



The Fooliam 



Chewing Contentment's Cud, made to his order 
By franchised Mermaids basking on the border. 
Avaunt Salt River! Cease your flow and eddy! 
Your bayous brand your dirty-work already: 
So dam your channel ! Stay your delta's suction 
And save the drifting Donkey from destruction ! 

Here comes the bard of Avon with a crutch : 
There is no lameness in his feet — not much ! 
He's only tired because — no doubt mistaken — 
The hoggish Scribes ascribe his works to Bacon. 
And here's the Human Ferret with his masks, 
Who undertakes the most bewild'ring tasks; 
Whose Dark Adventures — fiction dressed in 

leather, 
Have earned him Knighthood — fame and wealth 

together. 
Next bursts a shining mark of Wit's domain 
Who throttled sadness, cut despair in Twain* 
And made the Universe with laughter ring, 
Driving the Gloom away — O joyous thing! 

Then here's a Wigwam Brave of Tammany — 
A Pale-Face Chief and Boss of the Teepee; 
His Scalping-knife no longer bleeds Manhattan 
For he hath ample wampum to grow fat on. 
He trusted many — ^was a loyal fellow! 
But trusted most his gum-shoes and umbrella: 
No hostile Tribe could oust him from his post 
But Diatribe, 'tis said, he feared the most. 

12 



The F 00 Ham 



The greatest burden that he had to pack 
Was keeping Stripes confined to Tiger's back. 
In Erin now he hath his country seat 
Where he doth, as in olden days, repeat 
"The Harp, that once through Tara's Hall" re- 
sounded 
To-day hath wider scope — Is not impounded: 
Its Wires are strung broadcast, its flag unfurled 
And Celts, with Jacob's kin, divide the world. 

The Operator wakens from his slumber 
To show his Union Card and Chapter number, 
Then flashes on the screen the old refrain 
"Those coming late — permitted to remain"! 
"A lady with a wig may wear her bonnet 
But otherwise the Law doth sit upon it." 
Here ends the Intermission : next in order 
Are rural scenes across the Texas border: 
First is a Cactus Grove beneath whose shade 
Reclines at length a Montezuma Maid ; 
Next comes a Cavalier, who won his mount 
A playing Monte with a purblind Count: 
He sees the Seniorita and makes free 
To say — "Fair Stranger fly away with me!" 
But she retorts "Yon burro canst not carry 
The twain of us to Torreon to marry." 
Whereat the man, by force of arms abetted, 
Drags her away — but he is soon macheted. 
Thus from this Romance was a feud begun 
Embroiling ev'ry Greaser neath the Sun: 

13 



The Fooliam 



The Cactus Grove still thrives but on each limb 
A rebel hangs suspended cold and grim; 
The Maid — an old Senora now — delights 
To make tamales while the Senor fights; 
The Burro carries arms from corps to corps 
And loves to soldier just as heretofore. 

Albeit nothing's new and you'll agree 

Not to object to ancient history, 

We'll retrospect to Eden's woods and dales 

And show your forbears hanging b> their tails; 

Or, if you scoff at Darwin's Evolution 

And pride rebels at such caudate solution, 

We'll spread our sails on European decks 

And find your forbears hanging by their necks. 

Here is a picture of your Mother Eve, 

(The first authentic picture I believe) 

Taken with time exposure (just like women!) 

While she devoured the negatived persimmon. 

And for this fruitful act of mastication 

The curse of Adam fell upon creation! 

Then comes the scene of Ararat's disaster 

Where Noah launched his subsidized two-master; 

Just Mr. Noah and Joan de Arc, 

Two apes, two flies and so on filled the bark ; 

All other creatures without wings or fins 

Were hydrocuted for their divers sins; 

Next David has his fling and soon is seen 

To petrify the giant Philistine: 

Here Jonah makes his plunge to right the barge 

14 



The Fooliam 



And here's the Whale that suffered his discharge, 
While Jehu drives a bargain in the mart 
And takes his wife to dinner a la carte. 
Then Samson enters, blind but still a factor. 
Brings down the house and shows he is some actor. 

When William bartered with the Savage men 
And made the sword subserv'ent to the Penn, 
He showed the world that gewgaws and debate 
Were legal tender for choice real estate. 
This picture shows that Lo is but a faker 
When matched against a calculating Quaker. 

Upon the Bridge he stands, with glass in hand, 
(This was before the glass was contraband) 
Watching the shell game thund'rously proceed 
Till Spain was humbled like a broken reed. 
Then homeward from the hostile foreign shore 
Come conqu'ring fleet and crafty Commodore. 
Ovations greet him: Congress unafraid 
To show elation — elevates his grade. 
While grateful countrymen with willing hands 
Build him a home and deed him spacious lands. 
But when the Warrior turned to matrimony. 
Bequeathing to his bride his patrimony, 
A fickle nation, to hysterics keyed. 
Shattered his Idol for this gracious Deed. 



15 



The Fooliam 



Watt have we here a Wizard or a gnome 

Whose magic h'ghts the boulevard and ohm? 

No bushel hides his lights, e'en in a measure, 

For he hath well accounted for his treasure. 

He makes the human voice from distant zone 

A living presence by the telephone. 

Or places it in bondage, at his will. 

Until the speaker's form lies cold and still. 

Then resurrects it — song or speech or laugh — 

And reproduces it by phonograph! 

Here is a Pastor — English importation; 

The Lord hath prospered him in ev'ry station; 

Called from a parish to a diocese 

With added honors and a wage increase, 

(Did I say called? I must be bluffed or dazed; 

In Poker parlance it's not called but raised/) 

He soon discovers that his views have changed 

(His mental views: become somewhat deranged) 

And straightway starts a Doctrine all his own, 

Sowing the tares of doubt where truth was grown. 

Now here's the latest model of a dress : 

With changing styles the cloth grows less and less, 

And as it lessens into tiny pieces 

It happens, strangely, that the price increases. 

The figure silhouetted through the crepe 

Has not the semblance of a model shape — 

Scarcely a Dido fit for an Aeneas: 

(Could we but see ourselves as others see us!) 

16 



The Fooliam 



When Eve her body clothed in flowing tresses, 
She had no thought of substituting dresses 
Until Old Nick's Department Store was built, 
Then hirsute robe gave way to fig-leaf Kilt. 
And leaf by leaf the skirt was evoluted 
Till now we're back where it was instituted. 
Thus back again where garments first were worn 
We see this picture of September Morn, 
Marking the limbits of our dress reform 
When smiles are worn to keep the women warm. 
But men will ogle and women will flirt 
And men will follow the Sign of the Skirt 
Till women usurp, a Militant plan. 
The one garment left distinguishing man. 

Behold a vineyard ; hanging on its vines 

The lucious fruitage — Mother of choice wines 

And Father to the Grape-juice, some berate, 

That quenches thirst but can't intoxicate. 

A dual role the Vine doth thus essay — 

To soothe the grave and stimulate the gay ; 

Shedding its blood alike for Saint or vicious. 

Causing effects inspiring or pernicious. 

Nourished from such a store of plentitude, 

With social uplift tendencies imbued, 

Springs Modern Hermes, Master of Debate 

And doughty leader in Affairs of State. 

No Master Minds of Greece or Ancient Rome 

Could match the mental measure of His dome, 

And Caesar's Comments on Campaigns in Gaul 



17 



The FooUam 



Have nothing on his Three Campaigns at all: 

Whene'er his Eloquence the rafters hit 

It makes Demosthenes seem counterfeit; 

The Peroration on the Siege of Troy 

Compared with Cross of Gold was base alloy ; 

His potent voice, discharging verbal rockets, 

Hath power to fill the Hall — and fill his pockets. 

O what a pity to disdain to work it 

When it commands such tribute on the Circuit! 

And what a loss from monetary angle 

To waste such breath in diplomatic wrangle! 

Hail to the Chief! let noise resound a plenty 

While cannon roar and volley one and twenty! 

It's not so disagreeable you see 

To be the Father of your own country! 

But how much bigger heroes loom away 

A century or more from yesterday! 

A child to-day who hacked a cherry tree 

Would be examined for insanity; 

And if he bragged about it to his father 

Would likely get a whipping for his bother. 

The Story of the Cherry-tree and hatchet 

Would take some clever mental work to match it, 

But who would on this pleasing legend trample 

To make of George a horrible example? 

'Tis better, to his truthful heights aspire 

Than undertake to make him out a liar. 



18 



The Fooliam 



Here is a meadow stream, its banks o'errun 

With naked urchins sporting in the sun : 

A clump of willows shades the swimming pool 

And serves as dressing room for all the school, 

Besides supplying all official switches 

Used by the Teacher on the school-boy breeches. 

The scene's unchanged since forty years ago 

(Reflections from the pool do clearly show) 

The Teacher, in his day, was wont to play 

Upon this verdant bank in just this way, 

And also paid his tribute to the clump 

Of "Weeping" willows on his smarting rump. 

The Teacher grew in wisdom and morale 

Till he became a High School Principal; 

Then he was made Professor in a College 

Where he could better utilize his knowledge: 

But still scholastic scope was too much pent 

Until assigned as College President, 

Where he administered successfully 

Because, forsooth, he had the faculty. 

The sky-line cannot limit erudition 

Nor boundry be to vaunting man's ambition. 

And so the campus and curriculum 

To Peerless Prex, proved narrow and humdrum. 

Thus from the College to the Commonwealth 

The Tutor transferred all his mental wealth, 

Enriching by his vast beneficence 

The frontal assets of its residents; 

Teaching the denizens of Jersey dunes 

The rythmic beauties of his famous runes, 



19 



The Fooliam 



And how to legislate for self-protection, 

Making himself their Leader, by election. 

Just as the lion, caged, chafes at restraint 

Because the Jungle lureth where he ain't, 

The Governor, disdaining narrowed spheres, 

As Presidential Candidate appears. 

Inaugurated as Chief Magistrate 

(The High School where our Great matriculate) 

He still aspires to be the guiding force 

Of other worlds within his orbit's course 

And founds, endowed by Constitution, free! 

An Internat'nal University, 

Where Nations, who than eat would murder rather, 

To hear his potent precepts taught may gather; 

Where obtuse peoples, seeking sapience. 

May learn the fundaments of Common Sense 

And how much better than to kill and hate 

Is tolerance; and how to Watch and Wait, 

And how much better than the way they breed 'em 

It is to cross them with the Bird of Freedom. 

So, standing on the Summit of Success 

He guides our actions in these days of stress 

And, like a Beacon on the stormy Main, 

Will guide the world back to its poise again. 

Thus link by link is Hope's fruition wrought. 

And leaf by leaf its Lesson will be taught 

To rising generations, who'll discuss 

Achievements linked with this EMERITUS. 

I wonder, when the final page is turned, 

The book is closed — life's secret has been learned — 



20 



The Fool'iam 



What higher Honors and Degrees will come 
To crouTi his triumphs — in Elysium ? 
Meanwhile the willow switch is being plied 
As Scholars sit in Congress, side by side, 
Waiting in vain for signs of a vacation 
To plunge in divers pools for recreation. 
The Teacher calmly reads the daily lesson, 
Keeping the scholars constantly in session ; 
And now it seems about to come to pass 
That honors will distinguish this year's class. 

Here waves Old Glory, ev'ry star aflame ; 
A Beacon Light in Freedom's righteous name. 
Time was when warring stars, fading away, 
Forsook their firmament of blue for grey 
And, dimly twinkling through the long black night 
That followed close upon their ill-starred flight. 
Menaced the course of our staunch Ship of State 
Until the Helmsman, reckoning with Fate, 
Avoiding sirens and the lights uncharted. 
Steered her in safety back whence she departed. 
Long since, unsullied, to our constellation 
The wand'ring stars obtained their restoration: 
And now we see this wondrous galaxy 
Resplendent in the sky eternally! 
A simple plaster bust stands in this niche, 
A household Idol 'mongst the poor and rich; 
Such homely features, such a kindly mien 
Are rare Indeed in one so GREAT I ween! 
And yet this War Lord saved from dissolution 

21 



The Fooliam 



Our Statehood and preserved our Constitution. 
What matters it that murd'rous shot was fired? 
His work was finished ere his breath expired! 
And in his martyrdom a lasting peace 
Was crystalized and malice found surcease. 

A graveyard is a gruesome place at best, 
But those who fill it have a welcome rest 
From sordid cares and physical restrictions 
And find much comfort reading the inscriptions. 
So now I'll canvass certain epitaphs 
That were obtained by truthful photographs. 
"This marks the place where Tony Malachite 
Climbed skyward on a stick of dynamite." 
"Tread softly, Stranger, and emit no sound 
Lest you disturb my wife who's underground: 
For twenty years she talked me half to death 
But now, forsooth, she's husbanding her breath." 
"Here lie twin sisters, each of them a mother; 
Their mourning children can't tell which from 

t'other." 
"Here sleeps at length an elongated Samson 
Who lost his eyesight peeking through a transom." 
"Alas ! too soon was called our dext'rous son 
Who held four aces and another one." 
"He did not know the rusty gun was loaded, 
Nor never will, forsooth, for it exploded." 
"Here lies our truant Mary evermore; 
We never could locate the child before." 
"The man entombed beneath this slab of gneiss 

22 



The Fooliam 



Provided for a daily pack of ice 

To keep the Devil at a proper distance 

Till he became too pliant for resistance." 

"Interred herein my dear old father lies 

Just as he did before he broke his ties." 

A "bosom friend" we called him, half in jest, 

Because his whiskers rested on his chest 

And offered him perhaps, a means of grace 

To pose as saintly with a sinner's face." 

"Here rests a Drummer's trunk in bad repair; 

Frame bent, locks gone, and trays completely bare; 

At last called home! This was his final trip 

Because, alas! he didn't check his Grippe!" 

The man most feared is not the man of weight 
But one whose brain and brawn coordinate: 
The sickly looking chap who has the head 
Can spare his hands and use his wits instead. 
Oftimes it happens that the "sickly looks" 
Are due to training — not to bile or books, 
Therefore, when picking out an adversary, 
Don't be too hasty — but a little wary, 
For any man who looks for trouble will 
Discover it close by and get his fill. 
The Crop of Fistiana devotees 
Is countless as the billows on the seas. 
The modern Pollux, though, is very rare 
And only lights our archives here and there. 
But here's a Gladiator of the Ring 
Whose blows were deadly as the serpent's sting: 

23 



The Fooliam 



This Vulcan was not noted for his grace 
But for his striking prowess in its place. 
He forged ahead, outclassing giant-sized, 
And with short jabs his rivals mesmerized. 
No kick by mule however much enraged 
Was equal to his punch where he engaged ; 
No thunderbolt, with lightning in its wake, 
Could vie with him — such shocking havoc make : 
And though the Censors bar him from the ropes 
He still could put it over all White Hopes. 

The Wave of Reformation sweeps the land, 

Reforms of ev'ry kind and ev'ry brand. 

But more and more a selfish purpose shows 

The farther our investigation goes. 

The willing workers have some axe to grind 

Instead of really being wondrous kind; 

The ones arrayed against the Sport of Kings 

Of times contribute towards more racy things; 

Those who'd prohibit rum to other fellers 

Would always keep a bar room in their cellars; 

Those who decry a Sunday baseball game 

Would bridge the day with 'auction" just the same. 

We'd not object to Doctors if they would 

Prescribe the choicest tidbits for our food, 

But when they urge a diet we dislike 

We straighway balk or start a hunger strike. 

Reformers would do well, in our conversion, 

To recollect we're hostile to coercion. 

There was a time when Patriots were grown 

24 



The Fooliam 



Wherever seeds of liberty were sown, 
But crops of Politicians did supplant 
The patriotic harvest then extant. 
What would we think, if public man to-day 
Should have the moral rectitude to say? 
"O! Friends, in our dire need I do not falter 
To place my life upon my country's altar!" 
We'd all pronounce the start'ling peroration 
A certain sign of mental aberration. 

Behold the witches in their aeroplanes 
Sweeping the skies through ebon clouds and rains ; 
Mocking at birds that strain to overtake. 
Leaving them spent and fiutt'ring in their wake ; 
Shooting past stars that scintillate with hate 
And thunderbolts that, muffled, lie in wait! 
Thus Superman defies all natural laws 
And makes the Skies subserv'ent to his cause. 

At last the bestial Dogs of War, unleashed, 

Together gather for the carrion feast! 

The hapless progeny of War and Dearth 

Bestrew ten million acres of the earth! 

And here the Kennel whelps of ev'ry breed 

Grapple and struggle in their ghoulish greed: 

With frothing mouths and rabid brains thev strive, 

Maiming and rending ev'rything alive: 

The scene, with only snarling curs astir. 

Is one vast desecrated Sepulcher. 

How long, O Lord, will thinking beings be 

25 



The Fooliam 



Impressed to serve a tott'ring dynasty? 
How long will men, like pawns, be moved aside 
That Kings in senseless splendor may abide? 
Mayhap the worm will turn, the pawn rebel. 
And Kings, checkmated, have their crowns to sell! 
A righteous cause is destined to prevail 
While rule or ruin Despotisms fail! 
What greater crime than War, unjustified, 
Could smirch a throne or shock a nation's pride? 
What more than Reign of Peace could bring 

renown 
And added lustre to an earthly crown ? 

We next throw on the screen an ancient flagon 
Containing something rare that we can brag on. 
The Operator, while he tries to serve us. 
Should be excused for acting rather nervous. 
THIS is a drink to even Gods denied 
When Jove, with brilliant courtiers by his side. 
Beguiled the nights with laughter, feast and song 
And ruddy nectar cheered the royal throng. 
Had Fate vouchsafed this energizing draft 
Instead of high-wine nectar that they quaffed, 
They could have thwarted jealous Gods that hurled 
Them from Olymp'an Heights to Nether- World. 
Partake of THIS! and you can clearly see 
With mental vision, as in imagery, 
A countless host of dainty phantoms flit 
Athwart the rustic table where you sit: 
Elfs, sylvan nymphs and graceful fairy queens, 

26 



Tlic Fooliam 



With shapely limbs and Venus-vieing miens, 
Prostrate themselves before your eager gaze 
While mystic voices sing and fancy plays: 
Gay song birds flutter in the fragrant air 
And dreamy music springs from ev'rj'where; 
All nature and the spirit world together 
Commune in harmony upon the heather; 
No sound, in echo, gets a harsh reply 
From friendly sprites that hover in the sky; 
No gnomes or goblins show their hid'ous forms ; 
No wicked witches conjure thund'rous storms; 
No shadows linger ; no ill winds are blowing — 
Your joyous cup is full to overflowing! 
At length the phantom spirit forms are fled 
And spirits tangible abide instead. 
Thus ends the spectral dr^am, alas! alack! 
You fain would call the fleeting fairies back. 
But thoughts revert, perforce, to mundane things 
And presto! one more drink contentment brings. 
This is a scheme to introduce, you think, 
Some brand of Holland Gin or kindred drink ; 
But such a course I would not deign to follow 
Unless I undertook my pride to swallow, 
Instead of just a thimblefuU of THIS 
Which, rich and rare, I would not care to miss. 
So here's to you ! I guess you're not opposed 
To just a dram before the bar is closed. 

A dauntless mariner with caravels, 

Not very fleet but buoyant on the swells, 



27 



The Fooliam 



T- ..ited his course, with crews of Portugese, 
(At home on seas like skippers in a cheese) 
For unmapped ports (a connoisseur was he) 
To quench his thirst for notoriety. 
Hard work ahead! This was no junket cruise: 
His crews debauched by Santa Cruz refuse. 
When half seas over, to attend the sails 
And trim them 'gainst the treach'rous northern 

gales ; 
So Chris, egged on by menace to his spars. 
Scrambles on deck and trims his mutinous tars. 
Then all went well until our shores were sighted 
And famed Columbian Knights found us benighted. 
And ceded us with all our seed to Spain: 
But like bad pennies we've come back again. 

Next picture shows the warring winds and waves 
In ceaseless vigil over unmarked graves: 
And struggling in the dreadful maelstrom swings, 
Helpless to port or starboard, shorn of wings, 
A luckless ship: the ice-clad shroud reveals 
A youthful seaman clinging as she reels : 
He's seen to toss a bottle from the boat 
(The lines were not so icy in the note) 
Abaft the sinking hull: then satisfied. 
Plunges headlong into the seething tide. 
The morning sun beams on a peaceful sea, 
But wreckage mutely tells the tragedy. 
A tearful maiden, searching on the beach, 
Espies a bottle flotsamed within reach: 

28 



The Fooliam 



Her gloomy face assumed a hopeful smile, 

For she conjectured that the stranded vial 

Contained a message from her Sailor Lover: 

Breathless, she stooped the billet to recover. 

'Twas but a moment ere her fingers held 

The welcome bottle vi^ith the cork expelled : 

She peeped within and blushed; then glanced 

around 
To keep the message secret if 'twere found ; 
And there it was! some lover's last reply. 
Ground in the glass— O'^E QUART of SNAKE- 
TOOTH RYE. 

This is the school where Mary used to pull 
Over her guileless Teacher's eyes, the wool. 
Here is her lamb — a walking lexicon — 
Who took her old school boys to feed upon ; 
Until one day — a victim to his yearning — 
He died from book worms in his seat of learning ; 
And never knew, when Mary's schooling ended, 
How much, on him, her sheepskin had depended. 

Darius Green, of Second Reader mention. 
Bided his time to show off his invention ; 
But when he poised, to fly from barnyard shed, 
His wings collapsed and threw him on his head. 
Which shows that had he used his head before. 
He might have lived to walk around some more. 
The moral teaches — Error's doomed to fall: 
There's only one Wright method after all. 

29 



\. 



\ 



The Fooliam 



T- 1..S shows how fires were fought in early years — 

A Company of Vet'ran Volunteers 

Running with cart and pump and speed amazing 

Wherever any building was a blazing. 

They did their duty — put the flames to rout; 

Wherever they went in the fire went out! 

"My Kingdom for a horse" ! would get your goat 

If coming nowadays from mortal throat : 

You'd say, instead "A taxicab instanter!" 

And go ten times as fast as in a canter. 

For service such as this you'd gladly pay 

A Kingly ransom for your getaway. 

But Richard's crown — when thus he spake was lost, 

And so a horse seemed dear at any cost. 

Next, see the Piccaninnies pickin' cotton! 
The staple stuff, the weevils haven't gotten: 
These bursting bolls, the Textile Press says so. 
Are quite essential to print calico. 
This one White Hope that's really fit to print 
Coins money for the Planters like a mint: 
The "julep" kind is not the mint I nean, 
Altho it fits in well — mashed in between. 
Methinks the Julep Mint is banked on more 
Than any other kind by Southern Grower; 
And if, perchance. Certificates could be 
Exchanged for these by Treasury decree 
The South, where Nature's mood is always Sunny, 
Would soon be surfeited with ready money. 

30 



The Fooliam 



The Southland Colonel is a mighty host — 

In numbers as in quality almost: 

He seems possessed to do you any favor, 

And makes you feel at home — stranger or neighbor. 

No bar can halt his hospitality: 

He leads you to it with alacrity 

And greets each Colonel there with jest or banter: 

But when he enters — out comes the decanter. 

The Diamond Mines of Africa are good, 

But not so rich as ours 'tis understood: 

It takes a thousand men to work their mines 

While here we do the work with just two nines. 

Out there they work a twelve hour shift each day 

And get a penny for their daily pay, 

While here our shifty lads, for two hours' play, 

Pick up enough to keep the wolf away: 

And if the Africander falls from grace, 

Goes on a bat, another gets his place: 

While here the one who bats the most and robs 

The diamond sacks can choose from many jobs. 

A Sinecure is thus our workman's prize 

And always will be till the Diamond Dyes, 

Or Killgore and his Fed'ral legions drop 

A deadly bomb the Diamond mines atop. 

This canvas shows a Boomerang in action. 
Missing its hurler by a narrow fraction ; 
Which goes to show that chickens that v/e father 
Come home to roost and sometimes give us bother. 

31 



The Fooliam 



Monroe declared U. S. as Overseer 
Of everything w^ithin this hemisphere. 
Though alien Powers disclaim the principle 
And try to make it obsolete or nil, 
The bluff has been consistently pulled over, 
Abetted by the winning hand of Grover. 
To be consistent what more right have we 
To hold possessions near the China Sea 
Than Nippons have to gain a footing here 
Within a hundred leagues of our frontier? 
We must not trespass if we say Keep Out! 
To alien Powers that sail the Seas about, 
Nor keep our fingers in the Orient 
It we would make our M. D. permanent. 

Here is a Tennis match upon the green, 
A man and maid with Cupid's net between: 
This is a love set and I know the reason, 
They're practicing to "double" it next season. 

The North Pole trail is blazed by giant stones 
Marking a hundred graves, where human bones 
In mute appeal, warn trav'lers but too late 
Of bitter hardships and impending fate. 
Forward they go, impelled by vaunting pride, 
To doom as certain as the flowing tide. 
Heedless of warnings of the ice-clad hosts 
Of speechless spectres and uncanny ghosts. 
But man knows no defeat, is not dismayed 
Though all the Imps of Darkness be arrayed 

32 



The Fooliam 



Against him: thus upward climbs ambition 
Towards the beck'ning summit of fruition ; 
And forward presses towards the Northern Pole 
The fearless Trav'ler — greedy for the goal — 
In spite of many battles and defeats 
O'er countless years of marches and retreats. 
At last success rewards the human kind 
Against the very Powers of Hell combined, 
Who, marvelling at man's audacity, 
Unguard the fortress of the Arctic Sea 
Just for a moment, while the trav'ler wrests 
The long-sought treasure from their icy chests! 
Now walrus, auk and Polar-bear defend 
Our peerless ensign on the North Pole's end. 
And waving there, defiantly forever, 
It tribute pays to Superman's endeavor. 

This shows a clinic where the Surgeon's art 
Is traced in red upon the human chart. 
The burnished scalpel, keen for any issue, 
Is seen to plunge into the patient's tissue 
Until it reaches the aflfected liver. 
Which is removed without a groan or quiver. 
Remarkable indeed! O, lucky day 
When man discovered anaesthesia! 
For cutting-up when risky work commands 
The Surgeon should receive our reprimands. 
Instead, he gets whatever we possess 
Whether his work be failure or success: 
And if we live, absorbing all the stitches, 

33 



The Fooliam 



The nurses take the money from our breeches. 

So what alternative do Surgeons give? 

They rob us vv^hen we die or if we live ! 

Though, doubtless, they prefer to take our savings 

Than take our lives and end our futile ravings: 

In living, though, the Undertaker's fee 

Is not included in the bill, you see ; 

Thus if we live ten years without befallments 

The Surgeon's bill is paid off by installments! 

But not for me ! I'll die a normal creature 

Or Live my life — sans anaesthetics — ether. 

Of all the great achievements of mankind 

The Panama Canal is not behind. 

In fact, it takes first rank in clever notions, 

Uniting, as it does the two great oceans. 

A weed-grown ditch we first obtained from France, 

And then a revolution came, by chance, 

Within this very zone. A Merry Christmas 

Attended thus our presence on the Isthmus, 

When by concession, treaty or finesse 

We gained clear title to this wilderness. 

What feats of engineering skill were shown! 

But he who built it does not stand alone 

The subject of our praise, for Theodore 

Who engineered the deal, deserves still more: 

And equal praise and credit should redound 

To him who put this pestilential ground 

And fetid air into his hot retort 

And made of Panama a Health Resort. 

34 



TJie Fooliam 



The Panama Canal is open wide 

To ev'ry kind of craft that stems the tide — 

And yet it seems a perfect paradox 

To keep it open when it's under Locks. 

Here's a parade of English Militants 

Who strive for Suffrage and to "wear the pants." 

'Tis not for Equal Rights their Leader presses; 

They want to wear the pants as well as dresses! 

Imagine Gertrude, sweet and debonair, 

With feathered helmet on her wavy hair, 

As Constable? With Ethel Magistrate? 

And Lawyers Kate and Fan in Court Debate — 

While Flossie, dressed to kill, does plain-clothes 

stunts 
With ev'rybody talking all at once ? 
Would any Fellow struggle or protest 
Against such classy sleuthing and arrest? 
Instead, the men would struggle to be caught 
Beneath the chassis of this Juggernaut! 
O, Militants! you better keep a hiking 
Than spend your days in jail in hunger-striking! 
Or, volunteer and join the Royal Navy 
Leaving Dear Dad at home to tend the baby ! 
With sword and buckler drive opponents hence 
And make your husbands household ornaments ! 
Your Triumph's near! You're coming to your 

Own! 
But Franchise Laws will make you vote alone/ 
You'll have your segregated polls forsooth, 

35 



The Fooliam 



With Samovar and Make-Up in each booth 
And ev'rything around you that avails 
(Did I say ev'rything?) excepting Males. 
Your Sacred Precincts (this is no reflection!) 
Will furnished be with mirrors, at election, 
Where Daisy, Weda, Dorothy or Kate 
May have a look in as a candidate: 
And when you run for Office, on the Ticket, 
You'll win out in a walk, as I would pick it, 
For ev'ry father, husband, brother, son 
Would still support you as they've always done. 
And thus the World is yours, when you have fenced 

it, 
With Laws repealed that militate against it. 
And so I hail the coming Sexless Suffrage 
But bid you cease your unbecoming roughage. 

Behold a school ! but not a school of learning — 
A School of Shad from Southern streams returning. 
This is a model school — quite fin de siecle, 
*Twas caught by Kodak so, of course, is reel. 
With bated breath they roe against the current 
To bring their net weight down (this is apparent!) 
Below the mart requirements; thus 'tis plain 
Though Shad pound weight away they're not in 

Seine; 
For thus they slip thro meshes ev'ry season. 
(They take their scales along just for this reason.) 
If, flound'ring in deep water, I should fail 
To hook a moral to this fishy tale 

36 



The Fooliam 



My wooden poll, you'd say, had lost its cunning: 
If, in the swim you'd be and in the running 
Like Shad, you must avoid each snare and net 
That everywhere your lifelong course beset; 
And other precepts too I could define 
So, if you Succor need — drop me a line! 

When Mrs. Lot the wicked City fled 

And, looking back, brought evil on her head, 

She had nd disposition or intent 

To change her being into Condiment. 

For being fresh, her preservation took 

An unexpected turn — for just one look: 

But Lot himself went on and did not waver 

Regardless of his wife, who lost her Savor. 

Thus Lottie, shaken, cared not what befell her 

But lived alone thereafter in the cellar. 

The Railroads claim their operating cost 
Has grown so gross their profit is all lost: 
In other words — their outgo dissipates 
Their income from both passengers and freights. 
To me this tale of poverty is trash! 
They run along on time, while we pay cash! 
If, therefore, they would discount all their bills 
They would not troubled be with fiscal ills: 
And, furthermore, it seems to me they lose 
By operating trains with those Full Crews. 
It opes the way for Clerg\'men's attacks, 
The recognized authorities on tracts. 

37 



The Fooliam 



Methinks the Railroads' principal offense 
Is what we choose to call extravagance : 
For instance, all those culverts are not needed 
To merely drain the water out unheeded; 
And Enginemen should only have half pay 
Who drive around in horseless cabs all day; 
And Towermen should be banished evermore 
Who only know, at most, what's semaphore: 
Besides, what service can the Targets do? 
(The Enginemen shoot by them, it is true.) 
And why should Rolling Stock up-keep, diurnal, 
Be entered always on the Fixed Charge Journal? 
Or double tracks be stretched from East to West 
When one right way is always much the best? 
Or why maintain the obsolete Caboose 
And run behind still further? What's the use? 
If Railroad Presidents would work for less 
There'd be some chance for dividends, I guess; 
(A Poet, even, from his total fees, 
Has income less, per year, than one of these) 
Or, if the Counselors would waive retainers 
The Coupon-holders might, perchance, be gainers; 
And Auditors, the good, old faithful diggers, 
Could substitute, for red, the ebon figures. 
Such careless management and wanton waste 
Are gall and wormwood to the Public taste. 
We bitter grow, as Stocks we hold so dear, 
Keep going lower till the bottom's near; 
And then invoke the Courts for instant cure 
For all the "Common" ills that we endure. 



38 



The Fooliam 



The I. C. C. is hot upon the trail 

Of all these minions of the House of Baal 

Who will, if given time, improve their ways 

And side track Evil in the coming days. 

I sometimes think that Railroads are oppressed, 

That most of them could stand the Acid Test, 

And all of them would number in this list 

If Wrecking Crews in Wall Street were dismissed. 

Here is an escapade along the Nile: 

A Princess and her train are seen to file 

Into the tawny reeds (in dishabile) 

That skirt the shores and hide the swift-winged 

teal ; 
Returning from their bath quite unabashed 
To where, forsooth, their flowing robes are cached. 
They hear a cry; a lion cub 'twas feared. 
But yet so very human it appeared! 
A matron of the retinue, au fait, 
Who'd known the Infant Language in her day 
Searched through the rushes, with the Princess near, 
Without a semblance of prevailing fear. 
And found a bunch of swaddling clothes, a boy's, 
Who bawled them out with regulation noise. 
Thus Moses, Hawkshawed, found a place to go 
Within the Palace of King Pharoah, 
And saw the Princess daily, at her best. 
With fluffy surah clinging to her breast 
And cub-skin sandals on her shapely feet 
That rivalled Rythm when she traipsed the street. 

39 



The Fooliam 



Her grace and matchless charms were patent quite 

And Moses longed to get the Patent Right: 

And as his knowledge grew and he waxed bolder 

He wished devoutly he were twelve years older 

Or else had been a man when from her swim 

He first beheld her, unadorned of limb 

But clothed with modesty and crimson blushes, 

Within the labyrinth of swaying rushes. 

The moral, if there's any, makes it plain 

That foundling Moses was not found in vain: 

A gifted man, Physician to the King; 

He had a chance to doctor ev'rything ; 

And thus his shekels multiplied each day 

To aid him in his final getaway. 

The rushes still abound along the shore 

Where Mcses Rushed the Bull in days of yore; 

The tamarind umbrageously defends 

The hiding places of the water-hens; 

And, silhouetted 'gainst the sky, the Sphinx 

Is mute as ever — but I know it thinks. 

What's Friendship? Did you ever own a Pup 

And spend eight hours a day to bring him up ? 

And feed him at the table meat galore? 

And "sick" him on your neighbor's dog next door? 

And suffer him to irritate the cat 

And cut his teeth upon the doorstep mat ? 

And let him sleep upon your choicest rug? 

That's Friendship! Did you ever have the bug? 

This picture shows the whelp a chasing chickens — 

40 



The Fooliam 



But what of that? Just let him raise the dickens! 

When you were young you chased the chickens too, 

But only picked fine feathers it is true: 

The Pup will learn before it is too late 

As you did, how to differentiate; 

For, whining whelps, like boys, must have their 

flings 
Though puppy-love no satisfaction brings. 
But friendship is my theme and you'll agree 
Twixt dog and man there's bond of sympathy. 
To save his dog a man will risk his life 
Or have a dreadful rumpus with his wife: 
The dog, in turn, will run like mad and faster 
To render any service to his master; 
And though belabored by his master's cane 
He'll lick the very hand that caused him pain : 
When old and mangj' still the dog holds sway 
Though no more equal to a canine fray: 
Discreetly he determines not to risk it 
But growls instead and chews his stale dog-biscuit. 
The man, rheumatic, limps along the street 
With Rover always trailing at his feet: 
Their days of nimbleness are gone forsooth, 
For thus Old Age puts double check on Youth, 
But still they're Friends and never are apart 
While Wifey stays alone with breaking heart. 
This Dogma then, O Ladies, bear in mind! 
When you get married, leave the Pup behind! 



41 



The Fooliam 



After The War what fortune is in store 

For Crippled men who lusty were before? 

What welcome waits them where the home-fire 

blazed, 
To-day a heap of ruins shrapnel-razed? 
Where will they seek and find those left behind 
To fight Starvation or a fate less kind? 
What if they find them? More a tragedy 
Than if uniound for all Eternity! 
The War-scarred Hero seeks his youthful bride 
With empty sleeve a-dangling by his side; 
A footless limb, supported by a peg, 
Assists, as best it can, his other leg. 
His patient quest is soon to be rewarded. 
For here, 'mong Refugees, her name's recorded. 
At last! Her snow-white hair and sunken cheeks 
Cannot deceive when Youth its lovemate seeks; 
And so the Soldier hobbles to embrace 
The shapeless figure, once renowned for grace, 
Who, seeing, shows no int'rest or surprise; 
No recognition lights her soulless eyes! 
Reason dethroned! Seeing his child-wife's plight 
Surrenders he to Death — gives up the fight! 
Oblivion, relinquish thou the key 
To dungeon cell where, gagged, lies Memory 
That we may slay, ere Vengeance doth relent, 
The dastard guilty of this ravishment! 
O, well! 'Tis sweet to be a crippled hero 
With decorations from the hand of Nero! 
And what a joy to bear and rear our Sons 



42 



The Fooliam 



Just to make targets for a Caesar's guns! 
Three million corpses, soldiers to the last, 
Salute the Conquerer as he rides past; 
And this his Empire — these his Subjects prone — 
To his Ambition each a Stepping-Stone ! 

It's current news— the Germans are blockaded 
And non-combatant Powers have been degraded; 
The Sea belongs to England and to France 
(The raging main with all its broad expanse) 
And Russ and Jap, who plan to drain the ocean 
(Deep-sea-ted project causing much commotion) 
In order thus to sink (to lower levels) 
The German Superdreads and Water Devils. 
How else can England ever hope to master 
The Kaiser's craft that sail the seas much faster, 
(Our experts rate — and this I'd have you note 
The Baltic Fleet the fastest one afloat!) 
Unless, forsooth, when drainage work's completed, 
They march their Army (Moses' feat repeated!) 
Drj^-shod across the Baltic Desert reaches 
And dig the Teuton cruisers from the beaches? 
Meanwhile the Allies as they pump the brine 
Will find some ghastly relics, I opine, 
In Davy Jones's Locker — men and boats — 
To bring the choking feeling to their throats. 
Our John Paul Jones was not a kin to "Davy" 
But had relations with the English Navy ; 
He taught the British — v/orked the pea and shell — 
Not to presume on Uncle Samuel. 

43 



The Fooliam 



The Race of Joneses thrives and multiplies; 
Statistics show two births for each demise: 
Whenever duty calls — up springs a Jones 
Ready to sacrifice his blood and bones 
To save our Bird of Freedom from disaster: 
(Ten million Joneses itch to shy the caster!) 
Whene'er they touch the Eagle — harm a feather, 
The Joneses, rufHed, always flock together. 
Let Foreign Powers who seize the Seas beware ! 
Or else we'll send our "Joneses" over there! 

A Rich man finds it difficult, we're told. 

To gain admittance to the Gates of Gold ; 

The Camel knows its hardly worth a try 

To thread his passage through the Needle's Eye. 

With opulence or stomachs triplicate 

I'd take my chances hanging 'round the gate. 

If wealth and good digestion both were mine 

I'd stay outside for aye and not repine. 

WTien gastric juices cease their flow, 'tis then 

We grow contrite and pray and shout, Amen ! 

Or, when our riches fly away like finches 

We try to ease our Conscience where it pinches. 

With liver, spleen and purse in good condition 

We mortals "feel our feed" and not contrition. 

With three digestive organs to maintain, 

The Camel's life is but a sad refrain, 

And so I wouldn't care to be a Camel 

But to be Croesus-like I'd work like Sam Hill; 

A Dromedary, though, I'd rather be 

44 



The F 00 Ham 



If Mammon turned a frozen ear to me; 
Then I could eat and drink to beat the Dutch 
And wouldn't have to hump myself so much, 
But merely loiter 'round the green oases 
And draw my rations — just like filling aces. 

The Standpat Policy is on the wane ; 

To hinder Progress it doth strive in vain: 

Both Major Parties, in the main, agree 

That Progress is a prime necessity'. 

So now they're all engaged, including Mooses, 

In regulating long-allowed abuses 

And working out Reforms to suit the plastic 

As well as obstinate, — hence not too drastic. 

The "putting" game has long been out of style ; 

The "driving" game is popular meanwhile: 

The Politicians know, to earn their sal'ries. 

They must make telling strokes, — play to the 

gall'ries. 
And so they play the game, — 'tis plainly seen — 
Always a driving for the Green — Long Green ! 

Since this Revolving Orb received its birth, 
A Solar System Scion christened Earth, 
We've passed through periods of Slipping Ice, 
The Rock Formations, mica, quartz and gneiss. 
And Elemental Conflicts in this Sphere 
Till "combinations" made them disappear: 
And now, cooled of?, progressing stage by stage 
We've reached at last the Antiseptic Age. 

45 



The Fooliam 



Our drinking cups in public must be free 

From ev'ry atom of impurity; 

(This law enforced is good — but I deplore 

That all these free cups cost a cent or more) 

And Public Towels are marked "for pers'nal use" 

To do away with Syndicate abuse; 

(I must confess the Roller Towel of old 

Possessed advantages quite manifold). 

Our Dental Brushes are enclosed in cases 

To keep py'rrhea from the gummy places; 

And Straws, they serve with "fizz" and lemonade, 

Have lost their tickle, 'cause they're paper-made. 

Our laws are such that no kind-hearted Barber 

Can give Bacteria continued harbor: 

They cut the feathers from our hats and bonnets 

And censorize our essays and our Sonnets ; 

Inspect our food, and liquors analyze; 

(To make us lose our Spirits, I surmise) 

Eugenicize our marital relations 

And scrutinize our lives and reputations. 

An Antiseptic Legislature next 

May be demanded by religious sects, 

And dramas purged of amatory diction 

And then a law to sterilize our Fiction. 

But with it all, our compensation this is, 

They'll not be caught a cauterizing Kisses! 

Here is a mob awaiting at the door 

Of Hardluck Brothers' Big Department Store. 

A crowd of females — not a single male, 



46 



The Fooliam 



Makes up the mob-that storms the Bankrupt Sale. 
(No single male or married one: I mean 
No sign of masculinity is seen. 
The men are working for their daily bread: 
Their wives don't bake but spend the dough in- 
stead ) 
An Ad. sets forth the "bargains" to be sold 
"At Sacrifices hitherto untold";, 
"Since Noah's Ark was raffled oflF as junk" 
No such amazing values have been sunk. 
"Here's where a dollar doubles, you'll agree," 
"And changes underclothes to lingerie." 
"Our half-off nightgown sale compels attention" 
"And 5-cent Handkerchiefs claim special mention." 
"Here's where you blow yourselves without re- 

gret"; 
"Two dozen for a Dollar you can get!" 
"And stockings! reinforced and extra long," 
"With double heels and toes, just for a song!" 
"No man on earth endowed with any feeling" 
"Could find such Stocking values — short of steal- 

ing." 
"So here's the place for Ladies' Hosiery" 
"Marked with plain figurei so you all can see"; 
"And some have clocks that tell the time aright," 
"When on, forsooth, it's day; when off, it's night!** 
"Our Corset-covers in the Middle Aisle," 
"Are made by hand and very much in style"; 
"The open-work is quite the latest fad"; 
"It pleases Ma but makes a pique of Dad." 



47 



The Fooliam 



"Three-for-a-dollar is absurdly low" 
"For classy peek-a-boos like this to go!" 
"And here's the latest corset U. I. C." 
"That makes the bosom swell with vanity; 
"A model just designed by Madame Blanc 
"To fit the corpulent or trim or lank; 
"Three dollars for this corset does not pay 
"The cost of whalebones — but it's here to stay." 
So run the Ads; you read them and attend 
The Bargain Sales and all your money spend; 
But when you figure up, to your surprise, 
You've paid two prices for your merchandise. 

You'll next observe some fav'rites that you knew 
When toys were plenty and your birthdays few ; 
When Santa Claus and Mother Goose held sway 
At eventide, when you were tucked away, 
With Mother's lullaby to calm your fears 
And "Now I lay me" ringing in your ears. 
If you could throw aside the cares that blight 
And be a child again — just for a night, 
You'd revel in the goodies in the Cupboard 
And doubt the tale anent Old Mother Hubbard 
WTio found no bone — no scrap of food to nourish 
Her Faithful Fido who thus had to perish. 
And then you'd see Bo Peep in bed asleep, 
Wearied from quest of migratory sheep, 
Awakened rudely by the Butcher's ringing 
Who, marketward, her quondam flock was bring- 
ing. 

48 



The Fooliam 



The "tales they left behind" about B. P. 
Tell how she faced the altar sheepishlj% 
But always loathed her spouse with hate deep- 
seated 
And then eloped (particulars deleted). 
There's Old King Cole, in palace banquet room, 
Stringing his fiddlers while they fret and fume; 
And Jacic and Jill, upon the inclined plane, 
With pail in hand and water on the brain; 
And Little Jack, the pious Horner youth 
Who cornered all the Christmas food forsooth, 
Working the problem out by rule of thumb; 
And there's the Widow, indigent become, 
Compelled to domicile in cast-oflE slipper 
Because her absent husband was a Skipper 
Who sailed away, with all her household loot, 
Leaving ten daughters and six sons to boot ; 
And there's the Cat, interned in violin, 
Playing his part with caterwauls within; 
And frisky bovine, jumping o'er the moon. 
And chafing dish eloping with the Spoon; 
While Faithful Fido doggedly tehees 
At all the grotesque antics that he sees. 
Here's Humpty Dumpty, Storage House Deceiver! 
A bad old Egg afflicted with a fever, 
Who tumbled from his mural nest and died 
Without a friend around but Lime Chloride. 
And then there's Tom the Piper's Son, the thief, 
Who stole a suckling pig and came to grief 
Running the street adown ; but Tom, they say, 

49 



The Fooliam 



With six feet even, couldn't get away; 
And Little Boy Blue who, cowed and forlorn 
Went on a toot with a horn of the corn ; 
Fe Fi Fo Fum ; the Giant Killer Jack 
Who stalked the Giant ere he made attack; 
And all those Sainted Myths of joyous childhood 
Who did their freakish stunts in moor or wild- 
wood. 

The Turks are up in arms again, the Porte 

Has leased his harem and discharged his Court. 

His co-religionists, at his command, 

A "holy" war are waging in the land. 

The faithful gather from the quaint Kiosques 

For supplications in the gilded mosques, 

While robed muezzins, perched in minarets, 

Adjure the multitude to pay their debts 

To Allah, with their lives if there be need 

To crush or undermine the Christian creed, 

And force upon the world their own Koran, 

In England, Russia, France and far Japan. 

If Martin Luther were today alive 

I wonder if he could, for long, survive 

The spectacle of Turk and Teuton peoples 

Praying to Allah from the roofs and steeples. 

And waging "holy" warfare, with a curse 

Upon all others in the Universe? 

WTien Islam Porte receives his proper dues, 

I wouldn't give a copeck for his shoes 

Or Moslem sandals, worn to ease the pinches. 

50 



The Fooliam 



(But this pertains to feats and not to inches.) 
If ever he essays, with sins weighed down, 
To change his earthly for a Heav'nly crown, 
I fancy Luther, snug in Paradise, 
Will bar his vaunted entrance to the skies, 
Then roast the tough old Turk to saffron tinge 
And force this bird of prey with clipped wings 
Down to the yawning, seething vilayet 
Where rules Mcphisto with his ghostly get. 
When this gaunt Gobbler, head upon the block. 
Gets, in the neck, the threat'ning ax's shock, 
The world will join in grand Thanksgiving Chorus 
While this Hegira crosses the Bosphorus. 

Our Kinematic mechanism is 
Too hot for other thrilling scenes like this; 
Besides, the Operator, glowing there. 
Has been presented with a son and heir; 
He, too, is over-heated from excitement 
But gracefully submits to the indictment 
And asks a furlough, with a good excuse 
To seek a red-cross nurse with flag of truce. 
An expert as a movie operator 
He'll handy be with the perambulator. 
A telegram has just been sent to me 
Changing the final score from one to three: 
When "Cranky" reaches home and knows his fate, 
('Tis not an action I would emulate) 
Brimful will be his cup of happiness, 
Though you and I could get along with less/ 

51 



The Fooliam 



The plan seems wrong that some folks have so 

many 
While others, just as willing, haven't any. 
Than battl'ing in the trenches with the foe 
It takes more courage to stay home, I trow, 
And face such Infantry and night attacks 
With meagre rations in the haversacks. 
Thus Simple Man obtains a well earned rest 
With Theodorian medals on his chest, 
While woman, bless her! bears the heavy load. 
Making the nursery a charmed abode 
Without reward — except to be called Mother, 
And you'll agree no name is sweeter other! 
Tied down by little ties, she may neglect 
Her own apparel — as you might expect, 
While babies' stylish toilets she arranges; 
And that's some job : there are so many changes. 

Now here you see the famous Golden Gate 

With portals open: inside there await 

The wonders of the San Francisco Fair, 

The treasures of the earth from ev'rywhere. 

But wait awhile, before you get a guide 

And view, in order, ev'rything inside: 

The City proper (you may think I'm jesting) 

Is one grand place and very interesting; 

Seal Rocks, The Cliff, Goat Island, you should 

know. 
Are famed as much as the Presidio; 
And there's San Quentin with its rooms and rations 

52 



The Fooliam 



In case, elsewhere, you miss accommodations; 
And Chinatown! Of course you'll smoke some pills 
And dream you're rich and free from human ills, 
But lest you lose your carfare home, 'tis best 
To sew some saffron banknotes in your vest! 
In olden days before they had the Quake, 
( I beg your pardon for this grave mistake ! 
I should have said before they had the Fire;) 
Then Frisco was a scintillating wire; 
(Did I say Frisco? There I go again! 
San Francisco! Forgive this slip of pen!) 
Those golden days perhaps will not return. 
When Native Sons with yellow coin to burn, 
Would blow their heads off like the fiery Lassen 
And raise the "Ante" with no thought of passin* ; 
But civic pride and enterprise remain. 
(The reconstructed city makes this plain.) 
Their champagnes, shrimp and "pinchless" lobsters 

make 
An epicure voracious to partake: 
Fruits in abundance thrive along the reaches 
(I always take my hat off to the peaches!) 
And flowers of wondrous beauty greet the sun 
In hillside gardens riv'ling Babylon. 
With quays to Eastward, Golden Gate to West 
The bulwarks of the city are the best: 
No safer place exists by man's device 
For lightning never strikes the same place twice. 
A magic wand smote Chaos and behold 
This matchless City with its Gate of Gold ! 



53 



The Fooliam 



From desolation, phoenix-like, the rise 
Of San Francisco crowns man's enterprise. 
She fought the fight and won, against reverse, 
The admiration of the Universe. 
There's force dynamic, nothing soporific 
In San Francisco, Pride of the Pacific! 

Along the Rio Grande is next in order: 

It masquerades as River on our border. 

Its lava banks are cactus-lined ; its bed 

Is waterless and filled with sand instead. 

And here our weary soldiers have to sleep 

Where scorpions and Hela monsters creep. 

This is a place for "movies" unsurpassed; 

The air is clear and dry, the landscape vast ; 

There's action, too, when vicious vampires fly 

Athwart the sleepless pallets where you lie. 

It's very pleasant on the Rio Grande 

Where watchful soldiers guard our borderland 

And vary humdrum life and arid scenes 

In driving wells to fill up their canteens. 

(To water they have driven been because 

Of some late Army prohibition laws.) 

This watchful waiting may not please, of course, 

The Jingoes and our Military Force, 

But fighting bats and all the brood of spiders 

Is safer far than Mexican Rough Riders: 

For though the spiders sting, you will survive 

While greaser bullets leave but few alive. 

And fever epidemics kill the rest; 

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The Fooliam 



So watchful waiting is by far the best! 
Besides, perhaps we'll need our army legions 
To keep invaders from these sacred regions. 

When Jacob to his Uncle Laban strayed 
And asked the hand of Rachel, comely maid. 
He cozened was and therefore did not wed 
The one he loved but Leah in her stead. 
But as the days passed by and Rachel grew 
In grace and beauty, he annexed her too. 
Now Laban with no other girls was blessed 
Or Jacob, surely, would have wed the rest. 
His Mormon instincts did not cease, I'm certain I 
But that's another tale: so draw the curtain! 
In his defence (poor Jacob!) here's the truth: 
He loved not wisely but two well, forsooth I 
He had to marry ev'ry Laban cousin, 
To keep the busy gossips from a-buzzin'. 
And so was whitewashed Jacob's Fam'ly Tree 
To shield the shoots of his Posterity. 

I'll next present a Farmstead and explain 
Why rural life drives many folks insane: 
With eggs at sixty cents and butter stronger 
The City folks can stand the strain no longer. 
It's not, you see, the Farmers that go mad 
But urban dwellers that get in so bad. 
The milk delivered at your door at four 
Is quarter water and a little more, 

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The Fooliam 



But you, asleep, ne'er have a chance (poor 

Chump ! ) 
To smite the hand that flirteth with the pump. 
The buckwheat flour that brings a fancy price 
Because 'twas grown and milled by Farmer Rice, 
Is buckless and a poor makeshift for doe 
Because the plaster filling makes it so. 
The Maple Syrup sent by Parcel Post 
Straight from the grove by honest Farmer Yost, 
Is only cane juice from some Southern haunt 
With just the slightest flavor of Vermont. 
The sausages, fresh from a country killing, 
"With only pork and condiments for filling," 
Are stuffed with mush and bare of even jowl 
But when you fry them how they snarl and growl! 
Unless immune from rabies do not taste 
Such sausages but let them go to waste: 
The other kind I'm sure you could not swallow 
If you but knew where hogs delight to wallow: 
In other words, all sausages eschew 
Unless the kennel brand is known to you. 
The farmer's lot is humdrum and forlorn; 
He milks the cows, digs postholes and hoes corn ; 
Then churns, and feeds the chickens, herds the 

sheep 
And beds the horses ere he goes to sleep. 
Awake at three, he starts the same routine 
And cuts a cord of stovewood in between. 
But that is what he did when Dad swarmed bees 
And Mother worked the butter on her knees: 



56 



The FooUam 



Noiv all is changed ! A Lacteal Pump relieves 

The bulging udders of the dairy beeves, 

And handmade butter has been forced to go 

By Separators run by dynamo. 

(Old Rover views the treadmill obsolete 

And waggishly, congratulates his feet.) 

The setting hens, the good old patient waiters, 

Have lost their jobs through modern incubators; 

The hay is cut by motor mowers now 

Where scythes once mowed tlie fodder for the cow ; 

The chanticleers are fed by Automats 

And skim-milk pipe-lines feed the pigs and cats: 

Steam cultivators, where the weeds are growing, 

Supplant the farmhands and their quondam hoeing. 

While jigsaws, hitched to turbines, cut more wood 

Than twenty skilful axemen ever could. 

The farmer's life, you say, compels your pity, 

You, who depend on Clerkships in the City. 

If you but knew what real contentment meant, 

Instead of counter jumping for your rent 

You'd quit the Glove Department (Do not wait!) 

And to some farming district emigrate. 

In line with observations heretofore 

The workdays of the farmstead folk are o'er. 

They rise at eight (for clerks this is a crime!) 

And read their R. F. D.'s at breakfast time; 

Then George is called to bring around the car 

And so they tour the country near and far. 

Old Farmer Jones, today a Money Master, 

Once owed the Banks his last hard-earned piaster. 



57 



The Fooliam 



A blanket mortgage on his Real Estate 
Kept old Jones poor to pay the interest rate. 
Then came the turn, when wheat kept mounting 

skyward 
And Farmer Jones's "luck" became a byword. 
A truly grateful man would kneel in prayer 
For change from pauper to a millionaire, 
But Jones took credit to himself and paid 
The Banks in full, in cash and not in trade ; 
Then as his later harvests brought their toll 
He bought the Bank Stocks till he got control. 
Today he owns five Banks and half the County, 
While sev'ral Widows live upon his bounty, 
And yearly he exhibits at the Fair 
The finest peaches grown in Delaware. 
His cultivated daughter, quite in fashion, 
For Wagner and Beethoven has a passion: 
And thus the Organ, lately on her staff. 
Has been succeeded by a Phonograph. 
Poor country folk indeed! With war-priced wheat. 
With beef and mutton quite too dear to eat, 
An endless stream of money seems to flow 
From city farmward as they reap and sow. 
The greatest Trust that ever raised its head, 
(A Bird-of-prey to Octopuses wed!) 
Is what we call the Farmers* Self-Reliance 
That corners grub and robs us as a science. 
They'll sell no eggs — no matter how antique, 
Unless they get the prices that they seek: 
Their fresh laid eggs, according to their laws. 



58 



The Fooliam 



Must never reach the marts for any cause. 

Their purpose is — to make us quite forget 

How fresh eggs taste: you couldn't on a bet 

Obtain an egg in all its pristine health 

Through any kind of influence or wealth. 

And yet they ask for speedy legislation 

To give their "wretched lots" amelioration. 

A bill is now before our Congressmen 

To pension pumps and subsidize the hen. 

They might as well go further and include 

A bill providing royalties on food, 

And make themselves exempt from human toil 

These "horny-handed Tillers of the Soil." 

The moral is — "fresh" poultry eggs don't tackle 

Unless you know just when the hen will cackle: 

And "just churned butter"? Do not ever buy it 

Unless the cows themselves identify it! 

The wave of Prohibition inundates 

The ballot boxes of a dozen States, 

And Booziana has received a scare 

Driving its 'Still-alarmists to despair. 

The Ships of State, in dry dock since defeat, 

Await, content, accessions to the fleet ; 

And those afloat steer clear of bars, 'tis said, 

Maneuv'ring near the Lighthouses instead. 

Their helmsmen never veer to port, but force 

Their frothless schooners on the starboard course: 

And thus the hydrant takes the place of beer 

And rust invades our inwardness, I fear. 

59 



The Fooliam 



For common weal the sacrifice I'd make 
But what would you suggest for Stomachache? 
In taking from us all that we hold dear, 
The bev'rages that stimulate and cheer, 
There's only one recourse when we are ailing — 
To put our feet upon the dear old railing! 

Each new Administration deems it wise 

To boost our Import Duties to the skies 

Or cut in two the rates that then apply 

Without a pretext or a reason why. 

Our poor, sick Tariff always gets first aid 

When newly seated Congressmen tirade. 

The Kansas Statesman, in his maiden speech, 

Hoping his voice to Wichita will reach, 

Decries the slender duty placed on wheat. 

Ranting an hour before he takes his seat. 

The Minnesota member takes the floor 

And threshes out the subject to the core; 

"The eloquence from Kansas is all chaff," 

He says, and pauses for a laugh; 

"I cannot look my people in the eye" 

"As long as Winter Wheat remains so high"; 

"And, Gentlemen, my people are the flour" 

"Of this great land. I wish I had the power" 

"To picture famine and the martyred dead" 

"Because of Dollar wheat and high priced bread." 

A member from Chicago then arose, 

Before the other members came to blows, 

And pointed out that Dollar wheat can't pay 

60 



The Fooliam 



With Farmers buying Autos ev'ry day. 

A member from Ohio, face awry, 

Observed that with the price of wheat so high 

Distill'ry outputs would run far behind. 

Which would impose a hardship on mankind. 

Then Skinner from the Lone Star State derides 

The Wheat discussion, setting forth that hides 

Are more important — should bear higher tolls 

As promised to his henchmen at the polls. 

The Kansan rose, to bolster up his cause, 

And called the Texan "Cowherd !" 'midst applause. 

A Congressman from Boston stands to say 

"Hides are too dear to make Shoe Making pay," 

"And, furthermore, I see no difference whether" 

"The grain is found in Kansas or in leather." 

And thus from foot to foot the shoe is passed 

Always a-pinching somewhere, to the last. 

Meanwhile the Baking Trust with bags of dough 

Is lobbying to make wheat prices low; 

The Tanners' Pool, to save its precious pelt, 

Has busy grown, to make its presents felt. 

And so it goes — the everlasting clatter 

About this moss-grown thread-bare Tariff matter. 

I wonder if venality and greed 

Will always Love of Country supersede? 

A Tarifif Board that's permanent or fixed. 

Non-partisan, diversified and mixed 

With men of sterling worth from ev'ry section 

Could give us all a measure of protection. 



61 



The Fooliam 



The ancient game of Golf is quite a sticker 
For novices or those surcharged with liquor: 
It takes a skillful hand — a normal brain, 
When badly bunkered to get out again ; 
For once you lose your nerve you lose your skill 
And lose control of the elusive "pill." 
When Patience leaves you, just make up your mind 
To calm yourself or you'll quit far behind : 
Because the Caddie laughs when you're in trouble 
Just show him how to niblick from the stubble ; 
Or, if you slice or pull and Caddie smiles. 
Don't be disturbed but conjure all your wiles 
And drive a neat one far up on the green, 
And he will cease his comedy I ween. 
Then if your form improves from tee to tee 
He'll doff his bonnet to your Majesty 
And put you on a par with Donaldson, 
Who holds the record with a Sev'nty-one. 
The Caddie is a factor in the game. 
But if you fozzle he is not to blame. 
He lets you have your head, and clubs to suit, 
And makes no comment when you go to shoot : 
But there's no power that can his giggle stop 
If you should chance to smite the ball atop. 
But cheering comfort for your saddened soul 
Is always waiting at the nineteenth hole. 
I wonder — when the Caddie homeward goes 
With missing golf balls nesting in his clothes 
And gives them "to make over" to his daddy, 
Why someone doesn't reconstruct the Caddie? 

62 



The Fool'tam 



Revivals of Revivals are in vogue ; 
Evangelists of ev'ry creed and brogue 
Are filling pulpits, rostrums and our stages 
In condemnation of our sinful wages. 
Some point with fervor to the better life 
Divorced from wickedness and sordid strife; 
Some say we're doomed to sizzle on the coals 
Unless we mend our ways and save our souls, 
While others tell us we must Hit the Trail 
If we would safety find within the Vale; 
In other words — desert the altitudes 
And be not like the Phariseean broods 
But humble and contrite — just common sinners, 
In order to become Salvation Winners. 
Revivals now like Moving Picture Shows 
Are run for Cash from opening to close. 
It pays to advertise that Billy Bundy 
Will do his stunts in Zion church on Sunday; 
To promulgate the order of the day 
The printed program reads about this way — 
The Cowboy Band will play at half-past eight 
When Brother Goodlyman will pass the plate; 
At nine o'clock we'll of^er special prayers 
For Plutocrats and hapless Millionaires; 
Concluding this performance we have hopes 
Of large donations placed in envelopes. 
The Timbrel Trio will appear at ten, 
A session planned exclusively for men ; 
'Tis hoped the contributions will be ample 
To meet our Printing Charges, for example. 



63 



The Fooliam 



The Ladies' Guild will meet at sharp eleven 
To aid in pointing out the way to Heaven ; 
Those giving jewels will receive our praise 
And help us thus our "overhead" to raise. 
The Great Evangelist will preach at noon — 
"Look out for Satan or he'll get you soon," 
While Mongoose Mary fascinates the snakes 
And Brother Bilious a collection takes; 
A recess then will follow until four 
While Off'rings will be taken at the door. 
The talk at four by Rev' rend Brother Spout 
Will feature "How I knocked the devil out." 
The Bearded Lady, Sister Constantine, 
Will pass the hat the interval between 
This session and the Gamblers' hour at six 
When Brother Crooks will show some marked card 

tricks, 
While Brother Bouncer gathers up donations 
And entertains with songs and imitations. 
At eight o'clock the Mothers will begin 
A great crusade 'gainst drunkenness and sin, 
And those not able to give bonds or stocks 
May patronize the Contribution box; 
And we might add, we still need quite a sum 
To heat and light the Auditorium. 
Just a suggestion, though we do not ask it, 
As you go out put money in the basket ! 
In lieu of money we place no restrictions 
On deferred payments: welcome are subscriptions! 
Thus runs the Convert Circus ev'ry season 



64 



The Fooliam 



And thus they prey upon our purse and reason. 
The latter-day Evangelist is wise 
To point the Golden Highway to the Skies 
And lead us on : but soon we all backslide 
Leaving the golden highway to the Guide. 
"Salvation's free," you say? I disagree! 
For Heaven's so High, it's quite a luxury! 

Play ball! the Umpire bawls; the game is on: 

The Pitcher starts his windmill, spits upon 

His fine-cut hands, — and then there comes a pause 

As crazy fans give vent to wild hurrahs. 

To make the Pitcher lose his self-control, 

To hurl wild balls, to put him in a hole 

Is uppermost in ev'ry mind and throat. 

"One ball!" "Foul Strike!" "Two balls!" 

"Two Strikes!" "You Goat!" 
"That last one was a steal!" "Brush off the plate!" 
"And put your glasses on, you Wooden Pate!" 
Then Casey at the bat, with all his skill, 
The next ball pitched doth bravely try to kill: 
But straightway to the doughty Catcher's mit 
The curving spheroid laughingly doth flit. 
The scene that followed could not well be richer 
When Casey Struck the hole dug for the Pitcher. 

Rebellion no more hurtles through our States, 
And North and South ne'er clash in hot debates. 
The tomahawk and sword lie buried where 
The smoking Pipe of Peace assails the air. 

65 



The Fooliam 



Fraternal strife gives place to friendly feelings 
And ethics form the Keystone of our dealings. 
To-day we stand alone, 'rnong major Nations, 
A people free from War's grave occupations. 
(Not yet! It's best to qualify, I guess, 
Lest War Dogs nab us ere we go to Press.) 
We neutral are, while busy Ordnance Plants 
Our balances, 'gainst Europe's Trade, enhance. 
They all want Powder and our mills supply it, 
Though those who play with fire must suffer by it. 
We play no fav'rites in our War Zone shipments 
But those get most, with maritime equipments. 
The submarines and Sky-boats that we send 
With cartridges, our neutral stand defend. 
Whoever has the "bottoms" and the price 
Can get munitions from us in a trice. 
Those without bottoms who have money merely 
Get nothing from us and complain severely. 
Our Terms are. Cash with Order, f . o. b. : 
Deliveries we do not guarantee. 
These Terms of Sale the Powers well understand: 
We book no sailings for our contraband ! 
No Power could justly criticize our System; 
We're fair with friend or foe howe'er we list 'em. 
So much for Peace at Home while foreign Powers 
Destroy themselves with shot and shell of ours. 
It seems a pity that our bullets maim 
The innocents and not the ones to blame. 
If we could send projectiles that would slaughter 
The Neros in their bomb-proofs, as we oughter, 



66 



The Fooliam 



The War would cease; our part would be humane: 
For, thus, the World its equipoise would gain. 
Meanwhile our Ship of State, in treach'rous seas, 
Well holds its charted course with fav'ring breeze 
Until the ranking Mate, on watch, espies 
A threat'ning Rock a-looming 'gainst the skies. 
When Danger threatens Skill and Courage haste 
To drive it hence lest Manhood be debased; 
The Mate, however, overcome by fears, 
(An arrant Coward as the log appears) 
Deserts his post, thinking of Safety First 
And swims for shore, by Crew and Captain cursed. 
And then was flashed the signal of distress 
Which brought at once the proper S. O. S. 
Meantime the watchful Captain, tried and true. 
Hard-downs the helm and calls his loyal Crew 
To man the sheets, close-haul the fore and mizzen, 
Until the Rock is passed and Vict'ry his'n. 
Avaunt, O, Mut'nous Mate! You'll struggle long 
In troubled waters where the tides are strong, 
Before the new-born Hyphen Party, maybe! 
Concludes to pick you up to rock the baby: 
Or else, O, Jonah ! some fool- Whale, with jag on. 
Gives you a harbor in his water-wagon ; 
Or, drifting, as the tides turn in and out. 
You reach Salt River and go up the Spout! 

Unnecessary Noises are the cause 

Of Mental Troubles, hence some recent laws 

To isolate them, put them out of hearing, 



67 



The Fooliam 



To save the tension on our wheels and gearing. 

We put soft-pedal on discordant notes 

That burst, like shrapnel, from metallic throats. 

But voices, pitched however low or high, 

Do not, alone, these brain-fag sounds supply. 

The Taxicab that smokes and choos and scampers. 

Will cut-out nothing that its tumult hampers: 

This deadly Vampire, object of our cusses, 

Will soon be flagged by low-geared Jitney busses. 

The Cat, acknowledged but a screeching pest, 

To mock Tranquility doth strive his best; 

And though his paean interrupted be 

By boot-jack, sad-iron or by musketry, 

There's never surcease from his caterwaul. 

The most annoying brain-jar of them all. 

Another nuisance is the Knave who goes 

Adown the alley yelling, "Rags! Old Clothes!!'* 

He seems to think, in making his appeal, 

The remnants of our nerves are made of steel. 

The household Prima Donna, off the key, 

Fills all our waking hours with misery ; 

And Windy Bach, with piccolo and flute, 

Is always there, next door, to follow suit, 

While Fiddle-de, in flat above, doth play 

The very Devil, as he scrapes away. 

To make such direful sounds, what right have they? 

The cackling Hen has some excuse to lay. 

But what Soprano has excuse to twitter 

Who screams as if some mangy bull-dog bit her? 

These senseless noises, that assail our ears 



68 



The Fooliam 



Till calm gives way to storm and smiles to tears, 
Have put us under such tremendous tension 
That we're but fit for hospital and pension. 
Unless the German Bands, the brazen Spielers 
With breaths of Hercules and dingy feelers; 
Unless the Boys who whistle, homeward going, 
When darkness reigns, to keep their fears from 

showing ; 
Unless the Hucksters modulate their yelling 
When "Farm to Fireside" garden truck they're 

selling ; 
Unless, I say, all these reform and show it. 
We'll all be in the Bughouse ere we know it! 

When Daniel, who was capable but pious, 
Preferred above all others by Darius, 
Became a victim of the King's decree, 
"To me alone shall Subjects bend the knee," 
And sentenced was to feed the beasts of prey, 
(Enough to take their appetites away) 
There was rejoicing in his Rival's palace 
Who planned his death through jealousy and 

malice. 
But Daniel's Enemy did not prevail, 
And here's the joker to the Lion Tale: 
The King perceived, too late, his autograph 
Upon the "bull" spelt Daniel's epitaph: 
His vanity had fallen for the "canon" 
Aimed at the Seer whom Fate thus put the ban on ; 
And while the Mede and Persian law could not 

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The Fooliam 



Be changed or altered by a single jot, 
He felt in duty bound to change the Menu 
If not the law, he feared to put his pen thru. 
Thus went his Dentist, loyal to his cause, 
To pull their teeth and trim the lions' claws: 
And so it happened when the Seer was cast 
Into the Den, to break the lions' fast, 
He found them, docile as a barnyard brood, 
Nursing their sores: They had no zest for food. 
And when the King and all his retinue 
Approached the Atn, "the ghastly sight to view," 
But found the Prophet roaring fit to kill 
Because the beasts were servile to his will. 
Confusion showed in ev'ry pair of eyes 
Except the King's, who framed up the surprise. 
And thus they marvelled at the Seer's survival 
While healthy lions feasted on his Rival. 
But Daniel did not trust his fate to chance: 
He figured out, in ev'ry circumstance. 
While all the plots and secret schemes were brew- 
ing, 
The new Decree was planned for his undoing. 
But still he made no protest, but was bent 
On "writing in" the form of punishment: 
In this he had his way, nobody dreaming 
That Prophet Daniel would resort to scheming; 
But so he did ! and his was artful framing, 
For all his youth was spent in Lion Taming. 
And thus his sentence caused no tears or sighs 
For this, for him, was only exercise. 



70 



The Fooitam 



Darius, though, was never told the truth 
About the Prophet's training in his youth, 
Or else he would have understood full well 
Why he, like lions, fell beneath his spell. 
The "eagle eye," that made the lions cower, 
Was evidence of cagey Daniel's power; 
And thus, above all others, he was prized, 
This Seer whom King Darius lionized. 

To You, who go Abroad with well-filled purses, 
With Butler, Chaufifeur, Governess and Nurses, 
Leaving our Land of Liberty to see 
The shambles of some blood-bought dynasty; 
Forsaking grandeur here that thrills the Muse 
The Ruins of Antiquity to choose; 
Who while your hours 'mong catacombs in Rome 
Instead of with the live ones here at home; 
Who sell your daughters to the Royal Scions 
And sell your souls to stroke the Social Lions; 
Who spend your monies like the quick-rich Farmers 
For pedigrees and antiquated armours; 
Who climb the Alpine Peaks where Angels 

beckon — 
(They cheer you up, then drop you down, I 

reckon ) 
To You, I send this timely aerogram — 
Come Home at once to patient Uncle Sam! 
And nevermore desert your native States 
To toady to those Royal Reprobates! 
Come back to EARTH ! That is, stay over here 

71 



The Fooliam 



Where friends and kin, all those so near and dear. 
Except the Royal Sons-in-law, the leeches, 
May welcome 3'ou with banquets, bands and 

speeches. 
Forgiveness waits you if your ways are mended 
Before our waning patience is expended : 
So do not longer wait on foreign shores 
Lest we forget, and close and lock our doors. 
AMERICA! Why, bless your silly polls, 
Who find no Wonders here have icy souls! 
Our rivers, lakes and mountain peaks eclipse 
The cheesy Rhine, Lucerne and Alpine Tips. 
Our Mauna Loa is no second-rater. 
But great as Mount Vesuvius and crater; 
And little Lassen with its lava splashes 
Could smother Aetna with its smoke and ashes. 
You see, O, Wanderers, for ev'ry wonder 
The Old World boasts we hush their noise with 

thunder. 
For here within our borders Marvels lure 
That make their vaunted Meccas quite obscure. 
Niagara Falls, with all its water treasure, 
Could flood Sahara, with a goodly measure, 
And have enough left over, at its worst, 
To quench the growing Prohibition thirst. 
Their tombs and mummies, parchments and Dead 

Seas 
Are not as dead as our peace industries; 
And War Clouds there would soon be dissipated 
If reigning Czars were incapacitated. 



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The Fooliam 



Our Tourists "do" the Pyramids and Nile, 
And pyramid their profits here meanwhile: 
The latter Pile of Rocks I'd have you know 
Makes quite grotesque the Works of Pharaoh. 
America, wherever Tourist delves, 
Has Wonders that can speak up for themselves; 
And as for being mute, the Moose methinks 
Can give an object lesson to the Spinx. 
Our Brooklyn Bridge is larger, I surmise, 
Than any crumbling Old World Bridge of Sighs, 
And Europe's sapphire Danube is a scream 
Competing with Chicago's saffron Stream: 
Compare Pike's Peak with Ural's barren crests — 
There cringes Serfdom; here our Eagle nests! 
And sparkling Vichy brought from LaBelle France 
With Schuylkill River water has no chance. 
(For aught but drinking, Vichy is tabooed; 
While Schuylkill Water is both drink and food). 
The London Tower would be an "also ran" 
If matched against our matchless Charlamagne, 
And Australasia's giant Kauri trees 
Are toothpicks stacked against Yosemite's. 
Ephemeral is Europe's fame when Czars 
Are noted less than Moving Picture Stars, 
And why keep harping on the Blarney Stone 
When stony kisses here were never known? 
Our fragrant woods and meadows should disown 
Americans who sojourn in Cologne, 
And Monte Carlo players at the tables 
'Gainst Wall Street gamblers are but timid Mabels. 

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The Fooliam 



While Europe mourns and casts its loaded dice 
Our Paradise for Tourists should suffice. 
Your European "conquest" is a joke! 
They tolerate you merely till you're broke, 
Then send you home, bereft of pride and frills, 
To settle down and settle up your bills. 
Surprises wait you as you journey through 
Our Wonderland, an endless, splendrous view: 
These Spectacles will cure short-sightedness 
And cause emotions Tourists can't repress. 
Where will j'ou find in all your world-wide stray- 
ing 
Another Yellowstone with Geysers playing? 
Or, what great Work abroad by God or man done 
Compares with our Grand Colorado Canyon? 
So now you are acquainted, don't away go 
Until you've toured from Bath to San Diego 
And back again from "Frisco" to Mobile! 
Then, write the inspirations that you feel. 
As you, transported, cross the Great Divide, 
And add the fancies that have multiplied; 
Nor cease your task until the book is finished: 
Then write again! with ardor undiminished. 
Until vast volumes fill the shelves and cases 
With tales amazing of our Feature Places: 
Then keep on writing! piling ream on ream, 
In order to do justice to the theme! 



74 



The Fooliam 



You, who know Meter better than your prayers, 

Whose Feet ne'er slip, albeit unawares; 

Who pose as Scansion Experts to the Trade ; 

To You, I pay respects in this tirade. 

And, Oracles, who rarely condescend 

To read a Manuscript from start to end, 

No matter how impressive or ornate. 

Unless it bears the mark of Syndicate ; 

To You, I dofiE my bonnet with acclaim 

And hang your famous pictures in this frame, 

In order that our Patient Poetasters 

May feast their eyes upon their learned Masters. 

I lay no claim to friendship with the Muse; 

All aid from Shears and Scissors I refuse; 

And, what the Scribes and Pharisees deem strange, 

I have contempt for Paste Pot and Exchange; 

I only claim, and want you all to know it, 

I am the Champion Long-Distance Poet! 

My forebears, as I search my pedigree. 

Hung many branches on the Fam'ly tree: 

Their occupations were diversified 

But no one did what mortal could deride 

Nor famous was for any brilliant deed ; 

So now, in ripened age, I see the need 

For doing something, flirting thus with Fame, 

In order to perpetuate the name. 

My duty, clearly seen, I do not shirk, 



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The Fooliam 



And here you have this Monumental Work! 

I have no House of Crystal nor a Quarry 

And for these absent burdens I'm not sorry. 

An easy target is the glass-house dweller: 

Give me, instead, the good, old Cyclone Cellar, 

Where pebbles, flung by Critics, melted over 

Into real 'rocks," will let me live in clover! 

This Syncopated Satire with its slurs 

Is not as bad as Partington infers: 

I mean by this, though commonplace the verses, 

There's not a word to justify your curses, 

Because the Author is of good intent 

And not dyspeptic or on mischief bent. 

My aim has been to shoot no poisoned arrow 

At eagle, vulture, nightingale or sparrow: 

In truth, the Human Flock, from big to little 

Hath not my enmity, one jot or tittle. 

I therefore make a most profound salaam 

And beg indulgence for the FOOL-I-AM. 



76 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 395 529 9 • 




